


The Inquisitroll: Haven Attack

by HardPass



Series: Carried Away [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Puns, Belts are hard, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Fighting while drunk, Hangover, Lewd conversations, Sassy Inquisitor, Talking skulls, Trebuchets suck, Vomiting, puns, so many puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9803057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardPass/pseuds/HardPass
Summary: After closing the rift, the Inquisitor lets her hair down and gets hammered with the Iron Bull. Then Corypheus attacks. Let the struggle to survive and remained standing begin.





	1. Hirol's Lava Burst

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: the Inquisitor and company have potty mouths. And discussion of Iron Bull's package happens.

Haven celebrated. The rift had been sealed and the sky no longer pulled apart at the seams. The anchor remained on Caroline’s hand, crackling with energy just often enough that she couldn’t forget its presence, but it didn’t hurt. Tingled some, but it had become a familiar sensation and blended into the background of her thoughts the way an old ache might. She sat on a stone wall overlooking the festivities, mug of mead in hand, ankles crossed. Her future with Inquisition was yet uncertain, but at least the rift was closed.“

I didn’t take you for the solemn, brooding type.”

She glanced up as Dorian hopped onto the wall with her, cradling his own tankard, mustache oiled and gleaming. They had not known each other long, but after the shit they went through, he might as well have been family, but perhaps that was just the time travel speaking. 

“Oh, just you wait. I’m full of surprises. Contradictions. Secrets.” 

“Secrets?” His eyes gleamed with interest. “And here I thought we were past that sort of nonsense. Come on now, fess up. Let there be nothing between you and I.” 

She fought a grin. “What shall I start with? I suppose I’ll just come clean then. My heart is in fragments, shattered by the callous disregard from the most dashing man I’ve had the pleasure to lay my eyes on.” 

He took a long drink. “Enthralling. Tell me about this rogue. Will it require me to defend your honor?” 

“I doubt you’d be up to the task.” 

“Me? Not up to the task! Parish the thought. I shall fetch my fisticuffs promptly and challenge the cad to a duel on sight! Is he here?” 

“Oh yes.” 

“Describe him to me. I will hunt him down and insist he pay for his crime of hurting my truest friend.” 

She made a show of sighing. “If I must. He’s very tall, this man, with incredible skin. Such skin, I tell you. He’s the envy of Haven. None of these roughnecks could ever compare. And you should see how he dresses! If any of the men or women here knew true fashion, they would die of shame.” 

“You’re having me on. I’m not sure he exists by that description,” Dorien complained. 

She dashed him silent. “Oh, he is real as I live and breathe. His hair...perfect. Lush. Dark. Clean and shiny. Such hair, Dorian. And the handsomest mustache I have ever…” 

“Caroline Trevelyan!” he interrupted sharply. “How dare you imply that I have treated you with anything less than absolute devotion and admiration.” 

“But you can’t, dear Dorian.” She reached out and touched his cheek with mocking dramatism. “Because you and I fight under the same banner for the same resources.” 

He scowled deeply. “You’ve figured me out, have you?” 

She sipped her mead. “I have a sixth sense for these things, but come now, did you honestly think you were being subtle?” She heaved a longing sigh. “I will forever lament the absence of your affection.”

“You’re terrible.” 

Her sigh turned into a quick grin. “I know. How else am I supposed to have my fun?” 

“Had you been born with the proper equipment, I would fall to my knees to beg for your attention,” he assured her with a pat on the knee.

They clinked glasses and drank again.

“Speaking of matters of the heart,  _ is _ there anyone you have your eye on? I might not be able to take care of your needs personally, but I can make one hell of a wingman,” he offered, eyebrows raised suggestively. 

She grinned. “Varric banters the best, but his heart isn’t in it. I suspect a woman out there named Bianca has something to do with it. Blackwall is too serious. You get more flirting with a box of bread than you do him. I like the chap, but…” She shrugged. “Our Commander is by far the most fun. He gets terribly flustered and blushes and stutters most beautifully. I asked him if he took a vow of chastity as a templar and he about fell over in a fit. You should have seen it,” she sighed. 

Dorian barked a laugh. “I would have liked to! He’s not un-dashing, in a rugged, blond sort of way,” he admitted. 

“And who can deny the allure of that ruff he wears about his shoulders.” 

“Did he?” 

“Did he what?” 

“Take that vow of chastity. I need to know for purely academic reasons,” he sniffed. 

She snorted into her mug. “Between the stuttering and blushing and before he begged me to change the subject, I did discover that no, he never took such a vow. So any inexperience is unintentional and likely due to being a workaholic prude.” 

“Well, that’s a bit harsh, but from what I’ve gathered, entirely probable. Now, if you’ll excuse me, that soldier over yonder has been making puppy eyes at me this entire evening. I only came over here to put him in a frothing jealousy, and from the way he looks like he’s chewed on a sprig of rashvine, I expect it worked. Would you mind if I kissed you just a bit?” 

She cocked her cheek toward him. “Fine, but you owe me for putting my poor, shattered heart aflutter.” 

“Most certainly.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek. “If only you were a man, Carrie, love.” 

“If only you were less particular,” she shot back.

He winked and hopped down from her wall, sauntering over to his jealous prize. Caroline sipped her mead and followed the developments for as long as she could. It really was a pity they were less compatible. Dorian seemed like he would make an excellent bedfellow. She lost track of them quickly, which she hoped meant good things for the Tevinter mage. 

Also hopping down from the wall, she slipped through the crowd until she found the Chargers and their indomitable leader unpacking crates of bottles from a cart and passing them around to other celebrators amidst cheers. Caroline sidled up to the mountainous Qunari where he inspected a bottle. 

“You’ve been holding out on us,” she accused, peeking over the Iron Bull’s muscular forearm to read the label on the bottle. “Hirol’s Lava Burst?” 

“We like to save the good stuff for for when it really counts.” He passed her the bottle. “I hear this stuff will strip the lacquer off of a mage’s staff.” 

“My kind of poison.”

“I knew a guy once who said he didn’t know of a single person who could make it to the bottom of a bottle by themselves.” He reached into the crate and pulled out another bottle. “I always thought he was a bit of a pansy. I’ve been itching to prove him wrong ever since.” 

“Challenge accepted. Where shall we do this?” 

“Krem!” he bellowed. “Where’d we stash the cups?” 

“Up your ass, like always, chief.” 

“Bah.” He rummaged around in the cart until he found a couple of dented, aluminum cups and motioned for her to follow. 

They set up outside one of the bonfires on a couple of stools with a upended crate between them to serve as a table. 

“If only you brought me flowers, this could be a real date,” she quipped with a wink. 

They each poured themselves a cupful from their respective bottles. 

“To you, Caroline, for closing up that bloody asshole in the sky.” He lofted his cup. 

“And to you, Iron Bull, for keeping me adequately entertained along the way.” 

They clinked their cups and threw back the first mouthful. It burned every inch of the way down. Caroline choked on it, her body revolting as the acid found its way to her belly and scorched its very surface. She was fairly certain it would burn its way entirely to her ass and dribble out on her stool. From the strained noise the Qunari made, he had similar difficulties, even if he held it together better than she did. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” she finally heaved, pounding her chest. 

“Now that was different!” He reached for his bottle to splash a second shot in. “How are you holding up there? Not going to call it quits already, are you?” 

Butt cheeks squeezed together, lest she be proven right about the whole burning and dribbling business, she grabbed her bottle and stubbornly poured herself a generous amount. “Not in your life.” She held the cup up. “To the Inquisition, for not letting them take me to be locked up in Orlais.” 

He joined her. “To the Ben Hassrath, for making me spy on the Inquisition.” 

The first cup had been rough. The second was pure, unfettered agony. Both of them tossed it back, swallowed the fire in their mouths, and slammed their cups back onto the crate, heaving, wheezing, and gasping. For a moment, she had to simply exist as pain. It finally ebbed away, leaving her dizzy and nauseous. 

“This shit is great!” the Iron Bull roared, slamming his fist into his chest once and barking out something in Qunlat. 

Not to be outdone, she poured herself a third cup. Her hand veered a little and each motion seemed a trifle exaggerated. Nothing extreme, but the Hirol’s Lava Burst appeared to hit her hard and fast. Laughing like a maniac, Bull poured himself a matching drink. 

“To...your butt. For always being a delight to watch,” she crowed. 

“To your freckles, for being on your face!” 

By the time she finished swallowing, her body from her mouth to her gut was entirely numb. She couldn’t feel anything from the neck down and made a show of standing up and wobbling out a slow circle to make sure she still had use of it. Confident that she wasn’t paralyzed, she returned to her seat, nearly dumping off of it as it seemed to jump out from under her. 

“How are you feeling, Carrie? Up for the next round?” 

“Andraste’s tits as my witness, I will make it to the bottom of this fucking bottle,” she swore, focusing intently on pouring her next cup without spilling any. 

He raised his cup. “To Dorian’s mustache! No context necessary!” 

“To Varric’s chest hair! Fuck context!” 

Her body seemed displeased that she put another shot of Hirol’s Lava Burst into her body. Her stomach rippled and heaved, threatening to expunge its contents. Holding a hand over her mouth, she breathed slowly through her nose until the sensation dissipated. Shaking it off, she squared herself up as best she could. 

“That one was better than the others, I think,” he coughed, exhaling long and sharp and rolling his shoulders. “How are you holding up?” 

She couldn’t manage a reply. Opening her mouth invited disaster. Possibly some minor fire breathing. Instead, she gestured that she was fine. 

Leaning forward with a lecherous grin, he asked her, “I have to admit, I didn’t think you would get this far. I’m impressed. Perhaps after you would be up to riding the Bull.” 

Caroline’s laugh sounded insane even to her own ears. “Oh, Maker, no!” 

“No?” He fell back with a pout. 

“No, because unless you’re woefully disproportionate--” She cut herself off with a sharp hiccup and was forced to start over. “Because unless you’re woefully disproportionate, your package is probably the size of a nug. Now, I know women push babies the size of nugs out their snatches every day, but that is something I have no intention of experiencing early.” 

He fell back with a grumble. 

She motioned to their cups. “We’re over halfway through with this. Now let’s prove your pansy-assed old friend wrong about this shitty drink.” She poured herself another and raised it in toast. “To...um...to…” 

“To my nug sized package!” 

“Cheers!” 

Caroline had no feeling in her entire body. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the high alcoholic content or the liquid fire burning out every single nerve it touched. In any case, the drink slid down without much resistance. When she looked back up to the Iron Bull, two of him were doubled over laughing, swimming back and forth across her vision. She blinked to clear it, struggling to focus on his words. 

“You know, it’s not often I’m turned down because I’m _too_ _big_.” 

“I’m sure it’s more often about your face,” she shot back. 

“Hey, now that’s not nice!” 

“You going to fight me for it?”

“Maybe I will.” 

“Good.” She picked up her bottle, realizing that it was down to the bottom. “But after this last drink. I’ve only got a dribble left. Shall we toast to victory?” 

“Aye. To victory!” he roared, smashing his bottle against hers with more force than he intended. Both bottles shattered, spraying them with glass and the remains of Hirol’s Lava Burst. 

Their distraught cries joined the raucous of the celebration. 

“We have to finish it! We can’t say we drank the whole thing! Maker damn it, Bull!” she swore, swaying dangerously on her stool as she squinted cross-eyed at the jagged bottom of her bottle. 

He sat there in shock, mouth dangling open. “He was right. I couldn’t make it to the bottom. My life is a lie.” 

Tossing the remains of her bottle down, she said, “I need some air.” 

“We’re outside, boss.” 

“I need  _ more _ air.” She tried to stand. Failed. Sat back down. 

“Need a hand?”

“I can do it myself!” she snapped. “I’m not even that drunk.” 

Determined to prove herself, she braced her feet, clenched her stomach, and held her arms out to steady herself as she rose carefully off of the stool. Inch-by-inch, she made it to a full standing position, veered a full rotation at her hips, and finally steadied. 

“Ha! See?” 

“Oh yeah. No even slightly drunk,” he drawled sarcastically. 

“You’re just jealous a human almost outdrank you. And you should be. Because…” She waggled her fingers at him. “...I’m m-m-magic. Gotta pee now. You just sit here and be ashamed you made us fail the drinking contest.” 

She staggered away from the firelight toward a convenient clump of bushes not far off, hoping it was dark enough that she would be screened from the public. Each footfall seemed to take a hundred years, and her belt proved to be a formidable obstacle, but she managed not to urinate on herself or her clothes, which seemed like a solid win in her opinion. 

After finishing her business, Caroline encountered a new encumbrance--her belt buckle. Her numb fingers couldn’t seem to manipulate it back into place. She stood at the fringe of the bushes, fighting with the clasp like her life depended on it. Furious tears sparked her eyes. Why did the belt buckle hate her so much? Why wouldn’t it just go back together? Why didn’t her hands work?

“Herald?” 

She almost fell over whipping around. Cassandra approached, solemn, as always. 

“Oh. Cass. Hello.” She folded her hands together over her belt to keep the seeker from noticing her struggle. How did people make small talk? She wasn’t quite sure she remembered. “Um, big favor. No more ‘Herald’ stuff, please. It makes me really uncomfortable. I know, I know, I’ve never said it before, but I’m saying it now. So I said it. Really uncomfortable. Like, super uncomfortable. I’m Caroline. Not Herald. Got it? Got it. Good talk. I’m so glad we had this chat. Don’t you feel better now that we’ve talked this through? I feel like a weight has been lifted! The trees smell so nice tonight, don’t they.” 

“Oh...I...yes.” Cassandra shifted awkwardly. “I didn’t realize...just Caroline then. Um...trees?” 

“What about trees?”“

Something about how they smell?”

“Do they? I didn’t notice.” 

The seeker opened her mouth. Shut it again. Looked around with a furrowed brow and then started again. “I wanted to tell you that Solas confirmed that the breach is sealed. We have reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory.” 

She took a calming breath, hell bent on acting sober for the next minute. “Jolly good, then. I couldn’t have done it alone. I should send everyone gift baskets to thank them. Dorian says everybody loves a gift basket, and I’m inclined to think that there’s some wisdom to that.” 

She was one hundred percent certain she was nailing acting sober. 

“Indeed. Perhaps we should talk in the morning.” 

“Hmm. Yes. Good plan. How are you so smart?” 

Before they parted ways, they both turned toward the keep as one of the bells began ringing incessantly. The reverberations made Caroline’s eyes cross. So focused on keeping upright, she almost didn’t notice the call go up, rippling along the ranks. 

“Forces approaching! To arms! To arms!” 

“Oh shit.” 

“We better go find out what’s going on. Let’s get to the gate,” Cassandra said. 

In response, Caroline doubled over, and vomited heavily between them. She heaved for what seemed like an eternity, excommunicating every inch of stomach space her abdomen could wring out. Cassandra looked down at her in shock, fixed to the spot. 

Wiping the back of her mouth, she stood back upright. “I better go get my armor and staff. I’ll meet you at the gate.” 

“Herald…” 

She jutted her index finger up between them to cut her off. 

“Sorry. Caroline.” 

“I’m fine. I’ll meet you down there. Good? Good.” Belching loudly, she turned and wobbled her way up toward her tent to find her armor and weapon, fairly certain that, even drunk, she was going to need it all before the night was through.

Thankfully, Cassandra let her go, which was just as well, because her pants dropped off her hips to her ankles after she took about four steps. It took her a moment to recall that she hadn’t gotten them belted. Snatching them back up, she scurried along even faster. 

“Bull! Bull!” she shouted.

“Here, boss!” He shouldered his way through a wave of soldiers scrambling to arm themselves. 

“My hands won’t work and I need to get my pants buckled and my armor on. Follow me.” 

“I’ve got your back, boss.” 

“Good, because it’s your fault I’m this drunk, so it’s your responsibility to keep me alive from here on out.”

“Sure thing.” 

“And keep calling me ‘boss.’ I like that.” 

Grinning, he grabbed her before she veered sideways into a ditch. “Oh, this fight is going to be  _ fun _ .”


	2. Arming Trebuchets is the Actual Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arming a trebuchet sober is hard enough.

Caroline tore through her tent, looking for her armor. She rifled through her bedding and belongings, chucking aside stray boots and books with increasing pandemonium, cussing every second breath. She teetered against the cot for balance while holding pants up with one hand.  

“Boss? Boss? Carrie?”

“In here! Help!” she cried, on the verge of tears. “I can’t find my armor. Can you see it anywhere?” 

Bull stuck his head in, getting one horn tangled in the flap. “What are you doing in here?” 

“Finding my armor! I’m...I’m…” She fell sideways again, blinking hard to focus. “I can’t find it. Do you think somebody stole it? Is my armor gone forever?” 

He ripped the flap getting the horn loose. “This isn’t your tent.” 

“What? Of course it’s my tent. These are my things. That’s my bed.” 

He angled in and grabbed one of the stray boots, holding it up in front of her face for inspection. 

“Woah. That’s a really big boot. Whose boots are those? What are they doing in my tent?” She grabbed for the boot, lost hold of her pants, and would have fallen on her face if the Iron Bull hadn’t caught her by the collar of her shirt and yanked her upright again. 

He reached down and pulled her trousers back up with his free hand. “Your tent is one over.” He bodily steered her away.

She didn’t fully believed him until they arrived next door into a tent with her armor propped in the corner next to her staff. He took charge, sitting her down on the cot while he gathered her things and started stuffing her into it. Every time she tried to help--fasten a buckle, straighten a sleeve--he slapped her hand away. 

“I’m not helpless, Bull,” she whined, lip puckered. 

“You aren’t helpful, either.” He snapped the strap to her arm brace on tight. 

“I’m not even drunk. You’re drunk. You had just as much as me.” 

“One, I’m twice as big as you. Two, I'm Qunari. I hold my liquor better, end of story. There. You’re good enough. Try not to get stabbed too much when we get out there.” 

“Wait, my belt!” she cried. “I’m going to lose my pants again.” 

Groaning, he knelt down in front of her, parted her robe and grabbed her belt to fasten. 

“Herald? Are you in--” Cullen jerked the opening aside and stepped in, pulling up short when he saw them. 

Caroline panicked. They were heading into battle and she couldn’t even fasten her own belt. Cullen was going to think she was a failure. She was suppose to be an inspiring figurehead, not a wine-soaked sot. She slapped Iron Bull’s shoulder over and over with a desperate whine. 

“He can’t know I’m this drunk!” she cried. “Tell him something. Anything. Make something up. Quick!” 

The Iron Bull made a strained noise, glancing between them, her belt still held in his hands. “Um...right. Yes. We are in here having sex.” 

It was good enough. She bobbled her head. “Yes, exactly! His package is nug-sized. I wanted it. To sex on it. Ride the bull. I am not ashamed.” 

The Commander looked between them like they were mad. He pointed a severe finger at Bull. “Get water into her and get to the gate.” 

“Understood.” 

He ducked back out.

“Do you think he noticed?” she hissed, clutching at Bull’s horns. 

He swatted her away and finished buckling her belt. “Yeah, Boss. I hate to say it, but I think he noticed.” 

“I knew it. He always blushes when I bring up sex. It was a dead giveaway he didn’t believe us.” 

“Grab your staff and let's go.” 

She wobbled upright on her own account, nearly destabilizing again when Bull thrust a water skein into her hands. Using the staff to maintain balance, she chugged it back and followed her companion out. 

Dorian hurried up as they made their way down toward the gate, his hair mussed and buttons done up hastily and askew. “Ah, there you are. What in blazes is going on?” 

“I’m very drunk,” she slurred. 

“I meant with the bells and the shouting.” 

“Oh. No idea. I think the gate knows.” 

Sera joined their gathering, slinging her bow over her shoulder. “It’s all gone tits up, then, yeah? Couldn’t have one lousy night?” 

The Iron Bull set a hand on her shoulder. “Okay, we have one job going forward from here. Keep the boss alive.” 

She lofted her staff. “Oh, I can help! I’ll call lightning!” 

“No!” they all cried. 

Calmer, Dorian said, “Not yet, love. Wait until the enemies are upon us.” 

“Right. Right. That’s a good thought. So smart, Dorian. There are brains behind the mustache. How proud your parents must be.”

He patted her head. “If only they had your attitude.” 

The three of them helped her navigate to the gate where Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana had gathered. There were awful noises seeping from beyond the safety of the barrier. Caroline blinked and strained to look sober while Cullen debriefed them and they decided what to do. 

“There’s a massive force coming toward us, the bulk of them in the mountains,” Cullen told them somberly. 

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked. 

“None.” 

Caroline crossed her eyes trying to recall what the None family or nation was and how they fit. The conversation hurried on without her, forcing her to play catch-up when it occurred to her that None was not a name or title, but the absence of such. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to will herself to sobriety. “None” indeed. 

Her attention wandered to the gate where something or someone slammed up against it, a voice crying out, “I can’t come in unless you open!” 

Since he knocked so politely, Caroline saw no reason why not, striding forward to do just that. She slipped past the Iron Bull’s desperate grasp and hauled the gate aside herself, peeking out where bodies littered the ground. Their colors weren’t familiar. Perhaps they were the None colors. 

A young man finished off the last of the armored soldiers. He wore a terribly silly hat. It was almost as wide as he was tall. She snerked, studying the immensity of the hat while hands tugged her back inside. The young man--Cole, as introduced himself--stated that he came to warn them of the force in the mountains. 

“I’m going to vomit again,” she hissed loudly to her companions. 

Another skein of water was pressed into her hands and she was instructed to breathe deeply and evenly. 

“The templars come to kill you,” Cole warned direly, looking past them all to Caroline. 

She blinked, trying to hear his words over the loudness of his headwear. “Your hat is absurd. May I try it on?” 

“Yes, well, it appears they picked a terrific night for their attack,” Dorian drawled at her shoulder, helping lift the water skein back to her lips. “Drink up, darling. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.” 

Cullen came as close to losing his shit as she had ever seen him, jumping forward with a manly brandish of his sword. “Templars! Is this their response to our talks with the mages?” 

The teenage boy blathered on about an Elder One and his feelings about Caroline snatching up his mages. Really, it seemed like a disproportionate response to her meddling. She watched Cole’s immense hat, mesmerized with its movements and the way it stayed atop his head. 

Suddenly, eyes were upon her. Had they asked her something? 

“Um...good. So what’s the plan then?” 

Much to her relief, Cullen had everything in order. “We’ll arm the trebuchets and hit them hard. Haven cannot withstand a direct assault, but we can even up the score before the bulk of their army gets here.” 

“Let’s do that,” she agreed in a concentrated effort to sound important. 

He strode off to rally the forces while she focused on not losing the water she just drank. “Tell me if his speech is any good. I need a moment.” She leaned heavily against her staff, pulling in deep breaths.

They moved before she was ready, but her group kept her upright and going. They reached the first trebuchet about the same time as an advance force of red templars did. The lyrium they used had seriously fucked them up, sprouting out of them and twisting their faces into something singularly hideous. 

“All right,” she growled, holding her staff confidently. “Let’s do this.” 

Bull glanced toward her, sighed, and snatched the staff away, turning it around so that it was facing right side up before handing it back. “Try not to blow any of our guys up, boss.” 

“Maybe you should just stick with pulling the crank on the launchers,” Sera suggested.

They didn’t get to discuss it further as the advance force broke upon them and they were hurtled into defending the trebuchet while it was armed. Caroline called a few lightning bolts, but her aim was off. She managed to brutally slaughter a menacing looking tree, a bag of apples, and a particularly enemy-esque trail marker. Acknowledging that she was more likely going to get someone killed, she abandoned the defensive line and relieved the lad turning the crank on the trebuchet, like Sera suggested. 

Caroline grappled the crank with as much intensity as she would have grappled an enemy. It defied her, fighting against her whims. The occasional blast of magic and a few arrows hissed past her ear, but her companions did their jobs to keep the enemy at bay while she worked. 

They managed to get two of the trebuchets loaded and launched, bringing down landslides of snow on the enemy force marching upon them. It knocked them back a step, but she was in no condition to comprehend how much time it would buy them. 

A sudden, ear-splitting screech nearly dropped her to her knees. It was too dark to see the creature responsible for the shriek against the night sky, but volleys of flame spurted over Haven and the Inquisition forces. Leathery wing beats snapped over the crackle of fire and the cries of men. She didn’t need this one spelled out for her to know what was happening. 

“No, no. I cannot deal with a dragon while I’m this drunk. It’s just going to have to come back!” 

“Yeah, you tell it!” Sera cried. 

“Fall back, Boss. They’re calling a retreat.” 

“I will personally shove my staff up that dragon’s bunghole if that’s what it takes. Hear that, dragon?” she bellowed against the sky. “My staff has a date with your arse!” 

“Come on!” 

“Prepare your sphincter, reptilian bucketfuck! You think I’m scared of you? I am Caroline Fucking Trevelyan!” 

Sera giggled. “Is that really your middle name?” 

The Iron Bull locked his arms around her and took off toward Haven while she screeched obscenities at the dragon. She hoped the scaled bastard had the good sense to take her threats to heart. She came up with several really clever things to call it, only regretting that she didn’t have a quill and paper to write it all down to remember later. 

When they got back into the walls of Haven, just about everything was on fire from the dragon attack. 

Too many civilians were caught out trying to get to the keep. Her party checked every building to make sure nobody was left behind, fighting off raids of templars who scaled the walls to slaughter anyone left out undefended. Caroline couldn’t call on a spell without something going awry, so she took her staff in her hands and used it like a club, swinging left and right. 

“Attack my village, will you?”  _ Whack! _ “Burn up the houses of my friends!”  _ Whack! _ “Hurt innocent civilians!”  _ Whack! _ “I will--”  _ Whack! _ “--beat the ever loving--”  _ Whack!  _ “--shitcakes out of you!” 

Her final blow landed solidly against the back of a Qunari’s head. The Iron Bull turned in disbelief, snatching her staff out of her hands a second time. “For the love of---” he growled. 

The dragon passed overhead a second time, cutting him off with its scream. Grabbing her under one arm, he hustled her back to the Chantry. The young man with the silly hat hauled in Rodrerick just after they made it inside, but she was too distracted by said hat to process anything he told her. 

“If we live through this,” she whispered loudly to Dorian, “I want a hat like that.” 

“You shall have it,” he assured her, squeezing her shoulder. 

“Herald.” Cullen hurried over. “Are you…?” 

She waited for him to finish the thought. When he didn’t, she supplied, “...single? Now is really not a good time, Commander.” 

Iron Bull elbowed her. “He’s asking if you can walk in a straight line, Boss.” 

“How does that have any bearing to my relationship status? Unless you mean...oh! Right. Well, aside from a few experimental dalliances while I was living in the Circle, for the most part, yes.” 

“It’s a work in progress, Commander.” 

“Clearly. Well, in any case, our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an arch demon. It was in the Fade, but it looked like that,” Cole warned. 

“I don’t care what it looks like!” 

Caroline checked out after that, wandering away to locate a cup of water and letting Dorian fill her in when she got back. He leaned in close and murmured, “Looks like Roderick knows about an old goat path our people can use to escape. We can bury haven under an avalanche, but somebody is going to need to prep the trebuchet and fire it while keeping the Elder One distracted for as long as possible.”

“Oh, shit. Whoever fires that thing off won’t have time to get out.” 

“Indeed,” he agreed grimly. 

“Well, good thing I’m already drunk.” 

“Herald…” Cullen began. 

She held up a hand to cut him off. “No, I’ve got this. The Elder One wants me, after all, so who better to bait him with? I’ll take a skeleton crew down to the remaining trebuchet and get it primed. Then I’ll call the ugly bugger out while they retreat, afford everyone as much time as I can to get up that bloody path, and then kick the thing off and go out with a bang.” She sipped her cup, then scowled down at it. “Better switch back to wine, on second thought. Anybody got a bottle?” 

“Herald, what of your escape?” the Commander pressed. 

She flashed him a lazy grin, hoping he didn’t get into sappy goodbyes with her. 

Besides, if she was going to go out, she’d just as soon have it be like this. Piss drunk, on her feet, sacrificing her life in such a way that they would sing her glories for all eternity. It was just a shame she couldn’t do it in as marvelous a hat as Cole’s. 

Nodding curtly, he moved to assemble the Inquisition and civilians to evacuate using Roderick’s path. 

Caroline turned to her remaining companions. “All right then, before we get to this, I’m going to need a promise from you all.” She swept her fuzzy gaze between them. “That when I call the retreat, you run like I’ve lit a fire under your balls.” 

“One problem, I don’t have balls,” Sera interjected. 

“Borrow some of Iron Bull’s, then.” Before the elf could object, she continued. “If that Elder One shows up to scrap with me, you cut and you run. No questions. Is that understood? I will keep him distracted and get the trebuchet fired on my own at that point. No need to drag you all down with me. This is my glorious death, and I will rip you a new asshole if you try to steal my moment.”  

“This is oddly touching,” Dorian sniffed. 

“Shut up. Don’t make me start crying. I hate it when I get weepy after I drink.” She blinked rapidly to prevent tears from welling up. “All right, then. Ready?” She almost led them out, but stopped them all for one last thing. “Oh, I almost forgot. Whatever happens, most importantly, keep the witty banter going so I don’t lose my nerve. Got it? Good. Onward, my sassy friends!” 

She might have been anxious or tried to pass the buck off onto somebody else if she had been sober, but deep as she was in her cups, she couldn’t think of anything grander than trading her life for all of Haven. Grabbing up her staff, making sure it was right side up, she motioned for them to open the Chantry doors. 

“You write poems about me after I’m gone, you hear? Big ones. Iambic pentameter. Rhyming. Got it?” she called as they bolted back into the biting snow and choking smoke of the village. 

“Epic poetry about the Herald of Andraste? Nothing in this world could stop it at this point. I bet you some soldiers back there are already busy composing,” Dorian assured her. 

Hoping to hurry up the fights they encountered, she stopped holding back spellwork and magic. Her aim wasn’t terribly far off, and with only her companions in the line of fire, she was less likely to hit an ally. Lightning rained down, smiting her enemies into blistering pockets of flesh and allowing them to hurry past. 

At the final trebuchet, it became quickly apparent that they were out of time. The bulk of the army was about to march down their throats, and they were only four people strong. Well, more like three and a half. She wasn't yet top of her game, but even if she was, they remained to be comically outnumbered. 

Turning that crank with templars jumping in to gut them became the bane of Caroline’s entire existence. 

“You keep them off of me!” she bellowed.

The words left her lips the same moment a templar smacked her with a shield and sent her flying. She lost track of her staff in the snow, but she stubbornly crawled back to the crank as Iron Bull used his battle axe to de-spine her opponent. The world tilted dangerously as adrenaline and alcohol created a toxic mix in her blood. Resisting the urge to puke again, she stubbornly turned the crank. When her wobbly knees wouldn’t support her, she laid on the ground and kicked at it with her feet. She would prime the fucking trebuchet if it killed her. 

She didn’t honestly think she would make it, but the crank locked before long, moments before her people were overrun.

Scrambling in the snow, she came up with her staff at the last second and called down a fresh barrage of lightning. 

“Go! Fall back!” she roared as their path cleared. 

Iron Bull, Dorian, and Sera cut and run about the same time the dragon make a grand reappearance. Realizing that she created a lovely target for its fire, she scrambled to put distance away from the trebuchet, lest it accidentally destroy it with a fireball aimed at her face. She dove off the edge into the snow, scrambling only a few steps before the dragon did exactly what she expected it to and launch a counterattack in the form of a big, swirling, nasty ball of flame. 

The ball hit at her feet, missing her body, but the concussion picked her up and slammed her down against the ground. Again, her staff went flying. She lay on her back, ears ringing and popping, the breath snatched straight out of her lungs. The world swam in front of her vision for what might have been hours. 

When she finally got her twitching limbs under control and rolled, her hazy vision blurred into focus just in time to see a gaunt, skeletal figure approach her through the smoke. 

“Andraste’s tits, you’re a properly hideous bugger, aren’t you?” she groaned, making it to her knees before tilting forward onto her face. 

“Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken no longer.” 

She lifted her head again, wiping drool and snot from her face with the back of her hand. Not her most glamorous moment, but she’d had worse. “You...uh...you’ve got something there on you face there. It’s, like, growing out of it. You really ought to get that looked at.”

His lip curled as he loomed over her. “A wit, I see. You cannot fathom how undeserving you are for that mark upon your hand.” 

She sat back on her heels, cradling her head in one hand. “What mark?” 

“The anchor.” 

“The what?” 

“On your hand.” 

“What anchor on my hand?” She ruined it with a giggle, but she swore his head about popped with the effort it took him not to grab something pointy and stab her then and there. “Sorry, sorry. The look on your face! I know about the anchor.” She held up her left hand and let it spark. “Go ahead and take it. I don’t even want it. Makes everyone call me Herald of Andraste. Annoying title, you know.” 

“Stop talking,” he snarled. “The process of removing the anchor begins now.” 

The anchor obediently flared to life. Caroline grasped her wrist as her arm began to spasm, teeth gritted so she didn’t accidentally bite off her tongue. She recalled her mission, then, to buy time. She hoped the bastard had the habit of wanting to talk about himself like every other egomaniac she had known in her life. 

“What even is it? Where did it come from?” 

He kindly obliged and ranted on a bit about how she stole the anchor and how its purpose was to assault the heavens. He was mad, clearly, and went on a bit of a rant. He named himself Corypheus, which she ignored him in order to repeat to herself over and over and over again. In case she survived, it would make for useful intel to pass on. 

After he finished his monolog, the anchor flared hot against her skin, making her cry out, blinding her with pain so that for a moment she lost her purpose. Why was she even out here again?

Crumpled on the ground, she lifted her head with effort and glared at him from the dirt. “You’re a right bastard, you know that? Go on and have it back, then.” 

He strode forward on her invitation,grabbing her left arm and jerking her into the air. Caroline dangled, defenseless. Her sobriety began to creep back most inconveniently. The pain in her hand flashed brighter, hotter, as if her skin would melt away from her bones. She lost focus on his words again in her drowning fear. He spoke of breaching the fade. He spoke of his war with the gods.

“Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty,” he snarled in her face. 

She opened her mouth for a witty retort. What came out was a torrent of vomit. All of the water she had consumed, lost in a moment. It splattered across his crusty robes to his feet, pooling on the ground in squishy drips. 

Snarling, he tossed her aside as carelessly as a child playing with the toy. She hit the trebuchet, crumpling down next to the crank. 

That was right. She was supposed to stall him. The others were running. They others needed time to get away. 

“The anchor is permanent,” he growled. “You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” 

Caroline dragged herself to her knees, struggling to catch her breath and blink her vision clear. “Oh...good,” she wheezed, shoving aside pain and fear. “Because I ordered a whole new wardrobe just to match it. It would have been such a garish waste if you took it away now.” 

He sneered. “Petty, to the last. Like a little dog who doesn’t know when it’s been beat. No matter. I will begin again. Find another way to give this nation the leader--and  _ god _ \--it requires.” 

“You know, as a Herald of Andraste, I can say from experience that divinity is terribly overrated.” 

“I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die,” he declared. 

It appeared that time was up. She gave the others as much of a head start as she could manage. 

She jutted her index finger in the air. “Hold that thought, Cor-syphilis. I’ve got a thing I have to do. But before I do, I need to know just one thing.” 

He looked about to murder her, so she made it quick. 

“I beat you while almost too drunk to stand. Suck on that,” she declared, and delivered a solid kick to the trebuchet’s trigger mechanism. 

She didn’t stick around to see the look on his face or watch the mountain come down on her. She ran. She ran as fast and as hard as she could. Snow roared down the mountain, drowning out everything. She dove for the nearest wooden structure, anything to give her cover, even as snow pushed at her legs. The ground beneath her gave. Rotten wood snapped. She found herself in a freefall, her last, drunken thought turning to whether Dorian succeeded getting laid before all the fighting all began, or if he had been interrupted.


	3. Hank and the Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having survived Corypheus and the avalanche, the worst has yet to come, including a blistering hangover and a skull with serious pun game.

“Fuck it’s cold.” 

Caroline had come to terms with three things. First, if she had balls, they would have frozen off by now. Second, she had a blistering hangover. Third, she was actually alive to experience these things. It should have been a good thing, considering the last thing she remembered had to do with an Elder One and an avalanche, but the hangover made her wish the avalanche had gotten her. Not the Elder One, though, because fuck that guy. 

She couldn’t bring herself to sit up. Every time she moved, she thought her skull might fall apart and slid out through her nose and ears. If she hadn’t upchucked everything she had in her on Corypheus, she might have puked again. She felt like a mountain had fallen on top of her. 

And then she remembered that one actually had. 

After rolling to her hands and knees, using sparks from the anchor for its limited glow, she managed to get a look at her surroundings. She had quite conveniently fallen into a tunnel. 

“Maybe I  _ am _ blessed by the Maker,” she uttered as she squinted around. 

What were the odds?

Standing was problematic. As in, Caroline couldn’t actually do it. Her head was too heavy, her stomach too queasy, and her joints appeared frozen in place. Crawling became the easier option, so she crawled to explore her surroundings. 

“The hell did my staff go?” she grumbled. 

Speaking out loud to herself was the easier option. Her head hurt too much to make thoughts inside of it. 

After scooting around the tunnel’s gullet, she came across some debris that looked promising. She laboriously sifted through it, pitching aside rotting planks and brushing away rocks until she found the wooden shaft of a staff. 

“Thank you, Maker. I will never doubt your love for me again.”

She worked the staff free from the pile, wiggling it until it had enough give to pop loose. It wasn't her staff, but she wasn't in any position to whine. There was no telling what kinds of shit she would fall into next, and anything was better than nothing. 

The staff had a plain cedar grip and a human skull fixed atop. She almost dropped it when she turned it so that it's hollow eyes stared back. It seemed to take amusement by her startle, grinning quite wickedly.  

“I wasn't scared. You just took me by surprise is all,” she sniffed. 

Deepening her voice, she let out a throaty cackle and pretended to speak for the skull. “Heh, heh, nice to  _ meat _ you, fleshy. The name's Hank. Wanna  _ bone _ ?” 

“Never on the first date, Hank.” 

“Oh come on!  _ Live  _ a little.”

She snorted to herself, turning the skull away from her. “Note to self--reclaim sanity at some point.” 

Unable to help herself, she deepened her voice and pretended to speak for Hank again. “Losing your sanity sounds pretty  _ grave _ .” 

Making a noise of disgust for herself, she used the staff to haul to her feet. Paused when her head threatened to detonate, and finally settled. Blinking stars from her vision, she hobbled toward the mouth of the tunnel. 

“Hey, hey fleshy,” she said out loud, using her Hank voice. 

“Yeah, Hank?” 

“Knock knock?” 

She hated herself. But she couldn't stop. “Who’s there?”

“Bone.”

“Bone who?” 

“Bone me, baby. Right here. Right now.” 

She glared at the skull. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Hank, but you're missing the right equipment.”

“Sure, but I give great  _ head _ .”

She walked the next thirty meters laughing maniacally, but they eventually faded out as she devolved into prayers of thanks that nobody was around to witness these low moments. Caroline didn't think she knew what shame was, but this was a new brand of absurdity, even for her. 

“Aw come on, I know you thought it was  _ humerus _ .” 

“I hate you so much right now, Hank.” 

Before she could come up with a snappy retort for the skull, she dropped into a larger cavern already occupied. Of course, it had to be demons taking up residence, and she had zero subtlety, especially giving off light from her anchor. They all turned toward her, evil faces alight with malice. 

“All right, Hank. Show me what you've got.” Bringing the staff down hard, she called for lightning to make short work of the demons. 

Nothing happened. 

“Uh...Hank?”

“I don't know. This has never happened to me, before,” he protested in a whine. 

“That's what they all say.” 

The first demon launched at her. She swung Hank around like a club, beaning the poor bastard upside the head and throwing him across the room. 

“Aw, yeah, get  _ skullfucked _ !” Hank hollered--or she hollered--as she waded into the fight, clenching back searing pain driving through her head and a roiling belly.

Caroline's vision blacked out as the staff connected with thuds and crunches. Eventually she managed to call a few little spells to add to the damage, tossing errant bolts of lightning. Without the staff to concentrate and amplify her magic, she didn't achieve the devastation she wanted, but with enough flailing and shooting off lightning, she managed to turn her enemies to viscous sludge. 

When the dust settled, Hank clattered to the ground and she doubled over, cradling her head in her hands. Death might have been averted, but she thought she was going to have a stroke. She dry heaved for a few minutes, snot running down her face and drool dripping off her chin. When she finally got her faculties under control, she had come up with a thousand different ways to murder Iron Bull for ever showing her Hirol’s Lava Burst. 

Grabbing Hank back, she wedged the staff against the ground and fought her way back to her feet. 

“Aw, yeah, work my shaft, fleshy.”

“You wish, Hank.” She wiped her sleeve across her face. “You really dropped the ball, you know. Why didn't you channel any of my magic? Worthless staff, anyway.”

“Hard to hold your balls without any hands.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

“Hey, maybe we can go on a grand adventure to find the rest of my body.” 

“No.”

Pulling herself upright, she hobbled toward the back of the cavern where a crisp breeze and glimmer of light seeped toward her. Much to her relief, the cave opened in a wide maw that delivered her out into the elements. She fell to her knees, crawled on top of a snow bank, and buried her head in the ice with a long groan of relief. It was worth the risk of frostbite. 

“Hey, fleshy, this wind is gonna strip you down to the  _ bone _ . Get moving!” 

She groaned, brushing snow out of her hair and took stock of her surroundings. If Haven had existed anywhere in the area, it was buried under half the mountain. Snow stacked up past her knees, and fresh snowfall packed on top of it. Wind bit and tugged at her, lashing her face. She gritted her teeth as the cold seeped into her armor. 

“You don't look so good. Feeling a little  _ disjointed _ ?” Hank cackled. 

“Oh, I hate you,” she growled. 

It took her a while to get oriented. With no clear landmarks and unable to see the night sky, she spent some time circling aimlessly until she found a decent uphill slope. Everyone who escaped from Haven fled up into the hills. It was good a trajectory as any, so she began wading through the deep drifts. 

The only good thing was that the cold made the rest of her body ache as much as her head. With the pain evenly dispersed, she didn't know what to complain about first and defaulted to shutting up and focusing on walking. Hank, as annoying as she pretended he was, turned out to be a small blessing. He might be worthless at focusing magic, but he made a superb walking stick. 

Eventually she found the remains of a camp. Cold firepits, broken litters, makeshift lean-tos, trampled snow. Their footprints had all but been filled in, but she could just make them out. 

“Looks like a large  _ body _ of people came through here.”

“Stuff it, Hank.”

“Hey, you’re the one coming up with the jokes, fleshy, not me.” 

“Don’t remind me,” she growled. 

This time when she struck out into the snow, she had something of a trail to follow. Hundreds of soldiers and civilians weren’t exactly subtle. All she had to do was keep going until she caught up. They encountered a second camp a few hours later, also abandoned, but some of the coals were still warm. It was in an exposed area, so she didn’t blame them for moving on. She uncovered several bodies laid to rest in the snow, victims of their injuries before they found proper shelter. 

“My brothers!” Hank cried jovially. 

“Oh, Maker, Hank, that is so disrespectful!” 

“No need to  _ lose your head _ about it.”  

Rolling her eyes, she left the corpses to their rest and trudged away. 

“ _ Carrie _ on!” he cried as she got moving again, following the trail left by the Havan refugees. “I’ve got a  _ Hank _ -ering for a warm bed and bit of tea, don’t you think?” 

Her teeth clattered. “What do you need a warm bed for?” 

“To rest my bones.” 

“That was barely funny.” 

“They’re you’re jokes, fleshy.” 

“I’m losing my mind,” she groaned. 

Hank grinned at her through the darkness. 

If Caroline had been forced to hike any longer, she might have frozen to death in the mountain wilderness. As her vision blacked in and her joints creaked with every step, she caught sight of firelight through the swirling snow. Bowing her head, thanking the Maker, she pushed the last stretch until a shout went up. 

“It’s the Herald! Maker’s breath, it’s the Herald!” 

“Volume,” she croaked as the first bellowing scout reached her, skidding through the snow to a stop in front of her and propping her with his hands. 

“What?”

“Volume. You’re very loud. Please. Volume. Now help me out, there’s a good lad. And I...woah…” A wave of dizziness took her off her feet. She toppled forward, stopped only by the scout grabbing her around the shoulders to keep her on her feet. Apparently, she was in worse shape than she thought. “I’m going to need everybody to be very quiet and for somebody to dim the lights,” she added when her stomach ceased pitching. 

“Is it really her? Carrie? Carrie!” 

She batted a hand toward Cullen as he waded through the snow to her. “Shh. Shh. A bit softer, please.” 

“What’s wrong with her?” one of the scouts fretted. 

“She’s...I can’t believe it. She’s hungover.” 

“And very cold. And possibly insane. Speaking of which, somebody grab Hank,” she added. 

“Who’s Hank?” 

“My staff.”

“I’ve got him...it...ser. But it’s...uh...it’s not a staff. It’s just a skull on a stick.” 

She pulled in a breath. “Maker, that explains so much! Hank, why did you lie to me? How could you let me believe you were a proper staff? I took you into battle with me and everything!” 

Hank didn’t reply, because that would be absurd. He was just a skull on a stick. Skulls on sticks didn’t talk. 

Grabbing Cullen’s vest, she blew feathers out of the way and leaned in close. “I want that thing made into a real staff. It’ll be his birthday present. Also, I really need to you to know something.” 

“Let’s just get back to camp and get you warmed up.” 

“No, this is important. I  _ need _ you to know. Two things, actually. Two really important things.” 

“Fine, Caroline, what do you need to tell me?” he sighed. 

“First, I was never going to sleep with Iron Bull. His penis scares me.” 

He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “I know. It was just a ruse. He explained everything.” 

“Good, good.” 

“And the other thing?” 

“Right.” She pulled in a deep breath. “Don’t listen to anything Hank says. He makes  _ really _ bad puns, and he’s an asshole on top of it. I know, I know, he’s just a skull on a stick, but that still doesn’t mean he’s not a creep. But he also kept me alive, so I guess I owe him.” 

“You...uh...you hit your head?” 

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Cullen. I had a mountain fall on me.” 

“Right.” 


End file.
